


Eternal Light

by oneawkwardcookie



Series: Requiem for a Dream [1]
Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Angst, But also, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz, Flashbacks, Gun Violence, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Mentions of Emmett Washington, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, References to Canon, Wakes & Funerals, Whump, graveyards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:20:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25551202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneawkwardcookie/pseuds/oneawkwardcookie
Summary: They were supposed to get more time.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Series: Requiem for a Dream [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1882651
Comments: 56
Kudos: 89





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything about today needs to go perfectly because once they leave the church, nothing will ever be the same again.

There's a buzz in the house, a quiet noise that grows steadily until it pulls him into consciousness. He takes a moment to breathe, to realize where he is. He’s grateful he has a room to himself, because as much as he loves his family, he much prefers it when it’s just the three of them. His heart twangs at that, as he realizes what day it is. The last few days have blurred into one, too many things to arrange, people turning up at the house with food and flowers and overly tight hugs. It’s a lot. It reminds him of when he first came back.

By the time he drags himself out of bed and into a semi-presentable state, the volume of the house has doubled. He grips the door handle, sucking in another deep breath and turns it, taking a step back into the real world.

His father's go-to emotion is frustration, which only ramps up to anger, and that’s what he hears from the living room, his mother’s harsh whispers filling the gaps. He can't face his parents: even though they're physically present, it doesn't feel like they're really there for him, let alone for Buck. He makes a sharp turn and ends up in the kitchen. There are a ton of women milling around, and he's not sure he recognizes all of them. It's the hub of activity, wooden spoons clattering against pots and pans, interspersed by complaints and compliments. He knows he'll be the center of attention later, with all the discomfort that comes with it, so he's grateful to be able to just stand silently in the background and watch the familial scene.

It's why he doesn't notice Abuela come up beside him until she pulls him down into a hug. He's glad she doesn’t ask how he slept. Staying at Abuela’s house was his mother’s idea, under the guise of tradition, but he feels the lack of Buck keenly, even when surrounded by family.

He'd seen Buck the night before but even that feels like too long ago now. He doesn't get to see him now until he’s at the church but they’ve never spent a night apart since they got together, except where they were on separate shifts, and even those were always accompanied by a video call, Eddie falling asleep with his phone beside him, Buck’s face rendered in pixels on his pillow. This just feels wrong.

Despite there being a lot of family around, he manages to not have anything to eat forced on him. His father just looks blankly at him, as though words have finally evaded him. It’s better that way because he doesn’t know what he’d say back. He’s not up for a fight or any dismissive comments today. He survives the brief hug and placating cheek kiss from his mother, as he goes to check on Christopher, who’s sitting with Pepa in the other room. He wishes he didn’t have to interrupt the murmured conversation, but time is speeding along, and he needs to leave.

He barely gets a chance to kiss his son’s head before he’s getting fists beaten at his legs, tears streaming down his small face. Abuela, who’d been trailing behind him, and Pepa, try to calm things down between father and son, but words get heated.

“I want to stay with you!”

Eddie doesn’t know how to respond, how to say “I can’t have you with me right now” without it feeling too much like leaving, like abandoning him because of Buck. Neither of them needs that, not at this pivotal moment. He’s been so well behaved so far, so really, he should have seen this coming, but it still doesn’t make it easier to manage.

“I need to get my clothes. You’ll see Buck and I in a little bit, at the church” is the best he can summon whilst his nerves are this frayed. It puts a definitive end to the conversation, silencing whatever Chris was going to say in response, but it still leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

Abuela fills the silence with an offer for Chris to help her with filling the enchiladas, normally a treat that he jumps at, but even that doesn’t put a smile on his face. Chris turns away from him, face set in a scrunched-up frown, and Eddie’s face sinks as he thinks, _it’s only going to get worse as time goes on_. Abuela gives him a reassuring nod, telling him he can go, and he knows Chris is in good hands, but it doesn’t make it any easier. That’s a problem for another day, for a future Eddie, and right now, he needs to stay in the present and make this day work as perfectly as possible.

* * *

* * *

Back at their house, he opens the closet and pulls out his outfit, laying it flat on the bed. It's dark blue, looking small and out of place against the colorful bedspread. Still, he knows it's perfect for the occasion.

He fumbles a little with the tie, thinking how Bobby always helped Buck with his. He wonders if the older man did it this time. Eddie knows exactly what Buck’s wearing: they’ll be matching. It just makes sense. He thinks back to when Pepa had first met Buck, commenting on how they dressed similarly. As time went on, that hadn’t really changed. They had similar styles, often wearing the same colors on their days off, even without planning, and once Buck moved in, they shared both a closet and a wardrobe. Eddie’s heart seizes a little at the thought of Buck in one of his Henleys, always a little too small on him.

He shouldn’t be this anxious, he’s done this before. His harsh laugh echoes around the house. Right, because _that’s_ what he should be comparing today to.

Now, he feels almost sick with nerves, like he’ll vibrate out of his skin. He digs his nails into his palms, counts to 4, 7, 8, forces himself to calm down. There are pale crescents left behind when he unclenches his fists, but he feels a little more grounded.

He knew his emotions would be all over the place today, so he’s somewhat glad that Chris is not there. Still, he knows that having Chris here would have had its benefits – giving him something to focus on and pass the time, someone to fuss over and look after, hands smoothing his curls or straightening his suit jacket for the fifth time.

He’s grabbing his keys from the table beside the door when he realizes, he’s forgotten something important. He shoves the keys in his pocket and almost runs to the bedroom. How could he forget? Steadying himself on the doorframe, he pulls open his bedside drawer and plucks out a small box. Habit makes him open it, breathing out when he sees both rings in their place. Closing it firmly, he slips the box into his suit jacket pocket.

The drive is quick and relatively painless, the LA traffic sufficiently distracting without bringing him any particular annoyance. He can almost hear Buck’s excited chatter from his passenger seat at how lucky that is, especially since Eddie hates to be late to anything. He gives his head a shake, trying to dislodge the pointless thought.

There’s a spot reserved for him near the door and he’s grateful for whoever organized that, because the last thing he needs is road rage at church over parking spots.

The priest greets him at the door, but he doesn't hear him over Bobby, who appears next to him, a firm grip on his arm to steer him to the side. They both have such a history with Bobby, and Eddie knows how Bobby feels about Buck, so it makes sense when he pulls Eddie into an intense hug that lasts a little too long. Bobby is a little red eyed when they part, jaw wobbling a little.

“Are you ready?”

He doesn’t trust himself to open his mouth, so he moves his head instead. He’s enveloped in Bobby’s arms again, and the hold on his forearm returns as Bobby walks beside him to the front of the church.

Eddie doesn't look at anyone else, but he can tell that the place is packed by the low hum of a hundred murmured conversations. He stumbles a little and Bobby pulls him upright. He tugs his arm back and continues walking forward. _One foot at a time, left right left right, keep it together Eddie._ Bobby leaves his eyeline once they’re at the front, and he hears him striding back the way they came as he takes his place next to Chris. Eddie pulls him into his side and Chris clutches at his trousers. It’s not an apology but it’s a start. He’s not sure how much time passes before the music starts and he feels the wave of people turning in their seats.

There are tears in his eyes as Buck comes into the church. He's not the only one. Maddie is silently sobbing, one hand clutched over her stomach, face half pressed into Athena, who’s standing stiffly but not pushing her away. Abuela is dabbing at her eyes repeatedly, and Pepa is sniffling behind him. He can see Buck when he's halfway to the front and it takes his breath away. Buck always takes his breath away.

He knew Buck's parents wouldn't be here: they hadn't come for the fire-truck accident or the embolism or the tsunami, or any happy occasion that they’ve had since then either. It still hurts him, more than he’d ever let Buck know. He feels a distant pang of gratefulness when he looks behind the priest and sees Bobby, Chimney, Hen, Michael, Josh, and Albert.

They set Buck down at the front, a mere six feet ahead of him, and move past Eddie to sit on the other side of the aisle. Buck's side, he thinks hysterically, and clutches at the ring box in his pocket, barely registering as Hen squeezes his shoulder.

The priest calls him forwards and asks Eddie to place the pall on the deceased. It's like the opposite of the lifting of the veil, and Eddie feels the room spin, his stomach churning again.

The sentence echoes in his ear and he wants to scream, “He's not the deceased: he's Buck, he's Evan James Buckley, he's not supposed to be the deceased.”

He doesn't feel alive as he walks forward, more of a husk, a zombie, a ghost. He reaches forward to open the casket, only to have the priest catch his hand at the last second.

“I need to –” He croaks in a tear-soaked voice, opening up the small box.

The priest lets go.

Buck looks so peaceful, like he's asleep, lying beside him on those mornings where Eddie wakes up before him and gets to see him without a care in the world, bathed in golden light filtering through his blinds. The candles around him flicker and his face gives the appearance of moving, as though every flame in the world knows that he's not supposed to be this still. Buck’s hands are placed over his chest. He reaches forward to lift one hand, but can't seem to get the ring past his first knuckle.

He should know this. He's seen enough dead bodies, he's trained for God's sake, he should know that Buck’s fingers would be a little swollen, cold and pale. He always ran hot, something that surprised him from the very start, when they sat pressed against each other in the fire-truck. He learned to love it when he woke up with Buck wrapped around him on cold winter mornings. He learnt to need it when Buck pressed up against his back after he woke up from nightmares, shaking and unmoored.

He holds the rings in his open palm, adrift now that he doesn't know how to complete his task. There's a shuffling in the pews behind him and he turns to see Adriana pull a gold chain from her neck. It pools in his hand and he shakily threads a ring onto it.

He leans over Buck, pressing the pillow a little to get the chain under his neck, trying not to let his tears fall onto Buck's face. The ring glints against his skin.

Eddie keeps his eyes on Buck’s ring as he places his own ring on. He no longer has the strength to prevent the priest from gently closing the casket lid, even though he can’t bear to tear his eyes away from Buck. This can’t be the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to come and scream at me on Tumblr ([@oneawkwardcookie](https://oneawkwardcookie.tumblr.com/)). Also, in case the above didn’t make you cry, [here's](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLPzIHKGvAnC1fXpDnTJFbmLTroLH-G65A) a playlist for this fic (based on what I listened to when I was writing or what songs I think fit perfectly - this is continually updated as I write)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Each tolling of the bell brings another memory to his mind, of his life with Buck.

The procession to the graveyard is all pomp and circumstance. It feels deeply wrong. It reminds him of the army: of grand gestures with nothing behind them, of ceremony and tradition and a million other words that don’t have any feeling in them. He leads it all numbly.

He doesn’t recognize three of the firefighters that carry Buck from the church – they’re not from the 118. He also doesn’t recognize the servicepeople that line the path to the graveyard, firefighters and police, leaving him feeling like a ship in the ocean, an endless wave of salutes in his wake. He didn’t expect this many people – was this because of the fire-truck incident, the train derailment, or maybe the rollercoaster disaster or plane crash from even further back? There were too many disasters for him to think about.

The path of firefighters ends in ranks at the gravesite, standing stiffly. Bobby is the officer in charge, and although the older man clears his throat several times, his voice still wavers as he calls “Present Arms.” Eddie finds himself saluting without even realizing he’s doing it, almost dropping the helmet in his hand.

Chimney carefully approaches him, reaching out a hand and he doesn’t understand why until the helmet is gently being tugged from him. His knuckles turn white as he looks at the other man, who immediately lets go.

“You need to ring the bell.” Eddie’s eyes must be windows to his mind at this point, because Chim quickly follows with, “we’ll keep his helmet safe.” This time, he lets the helmet out of his grasp, watching Chimney wipe a hand over the top, where a tear had fallen, before he walks over to Maddie. She grips it to her chest, resting her forehead on it as she cradles it.

Turning back, he takes a few more steps until he’s behind the bell, looking out onto the sea of people. Hen is next to him, dried tear tracks across her face, her hand reaching out to grab his arm, unable to say anything. Nothing would help anyway.

Chim returns to his side as Bobby starts to speak again. As the speech draws to a close, Eddie steps forward, reaching up for the rope. Each gunshot jolts him into the past, and as his hand swings forwards, each tolling of the bell brings another memory to his mind.

**1**  


Everything was so tense between them at the start, a taut thread between them, quivering with anticipation.

He’d felt annoyance at first – Buck was the only puzzle piece he couldn’t figure out, couldn’t immediately win over with charm or experience or competence. It had made him snappy and defensive, until he saw it for what it was, saw him for who he was, halfway through a confrontation, and then couldn’t help but change how he looked at him. Then they were in the back of an ambulance, an actual unexploded bomb between them.

A promise to have each other’s backs.

Looking back, he doesn’t understand how he had given that so easily, how Buck had looked at him like he gave him the moon, how they had managed to make those vows to each other with such certainty.

Three years later, Buck was sitting at the dining table, looking up theatre tickets when he laughed out loud, surprised and joyful. Eddie had looked over Buck’s shoulder at the screen, to see him looking at Hamilton tickets.

“You walked in and my heart went boom,” Buck had chuckled, reaching back to bring one of Eddie’s hands to his shoulder, tilting his head to kiss each knuckle.

“Well, the way I remember it, the boom happened a little later in the day.” He had pressed a kiss in return to the side of Buck’s forehead, before sitting on the chair next to him, hand still clutching Buck’s.

“Either way, you remember what we said to each other that day?”

“You can have my back any day.” He had looked into Buck’s eyes, and it was as though nothing had changed at all. They were like they always were and always would be.

“Or you could have mine.”

**2**

He had kept his life separate from his work, kept things compartmentalized and clean and in control. He had tried. Accidents happened though, and there was nowhere left to turn, and then he had turned to Buck. Those blue eyes were steady and reassuring and saw him without judging. He hadn’t known what to do with his face. He'd never been so grateful for the alarm.

He had still barely stayed afloat: there were only so many times he could rely on Abuela and Pepa, and there were going to keep being times when neither of them could be there for Chris, for him. It had kept him up at night.

He had thought he’d built up a solid foundation of trust with Buck, so when he had found himself standing in an apartment, called over under false pretenses, he’d been wary. Hearing that Buck had asked him there to meet someone hadn’t helped take his nerves off the ledge, and the confusion had just continued when Carla had shown up at the door, warmly hugging him whilst calling him Buckaroo.

It wasn’t until Buck referred to the woman as LA’s finest home healthcare aide that the pieces of the puzzle had started to fit together, and when he had said that she could help with Christopher, he hadn’t been able to hold back the wave of gratefulness that engulfed him as he looked over at Buck.

She wasn’t just a friend: she was a lifeline, someone that could help, someone he could trust. Behind all of that was Buck, and he too was there for them.

**3**

The day had been chaotic from the very start, so of course there was a tsunami. LA really had decided to throw everything at him about once a year. The one thing that had helped him get through the day was the thought that Chris was safe, hanging out with his Buck and hopefully helping Buck to feel a little better. He hadn’t expected to see Buck, battered, bruised and bleeding, standing listlessly by a medical tent.

Buck was a picture of grief, unable to answer his questions and get out more than a few words at a time. Eddie was confused, then shell-shocked, as lost at sea as the bodies not in the makeshift morgue. It had lasted all of a minute, but with his son in his arms, he had finally taken the opportunity to look at Buck properly.

He had looked half dead, collapsing into the arms of the rest of the 118 as soon as he had seen that Chris was alive. His face and arms were scratched, a filthy rag around his arm that Eddie hadn’t been able to see clearly enough to tell if it was soaked with blood or anything else. His hand was also covered in blood, not to mention what other injuries he might have had. Despite all that, his face was a kaleidoscope of relief and disbelief, of sheer joy and exhaustion.

It had been one thing to see Buck run selflessly, readily, happily, into burning buildings and crash sites whilst on the job. On that day, he had been willing to ignore himself almost entirely, pushing himself beyond all physical and mental limits for Chris, for him.

**4**

The day was no different to any other. They’d done this so many times, although admittedly a bit more over the last few months – inviting Buck over for an evening when their shifts had aligned.  


The weather was temperamental, the sky a wash of grays and darker grays, so when Buck had come over with a bag of marshmallows and a new board game he’d mentioned at work, he had only smiled fondly, before he had remembered to roll his eyes a little at how big the bag of marshmallows was.

They had made hot chocolate, Eddie chopping the marshmallows into smaller pieces and placing a careful few into each of their mugs and tossing some of the remainder into Buck’s mouth. They had settled on the floor of Chris’s room, knocking knees as they had crowded round the board and Buck explained the game to them both.

After the long explanation, Buck had turned to Chris and asked him if it sounded fun or if he wanted to do something else, leaning into Eddie to get to a pack of cards in his side pocket, shaking them from side to side in one hand as he said there were some fun card games they could play instead, or later if they preferred.

That was when the thought had hit him, in the heart and the gut – he wanted this all the time. Buck was packing up the board game, and dealing cards, but all Eddie had thought about was that he wanted him, in every part of his life, in every way.

Buck had started to explain a game, shooting glances to Eddie every so often, whilst Eddie’s mind had tried to piece together where this had come from. The only logical answer was that it had come from everywhere, everything. It was there like Buck – from the beginning: unwavering and blindingly good.

He had managed to smile back at Buck, after he’d been quiet for far too long, and kept his wits enough to both beat Buck and let Chris win. The mildly concerned look on Buck’s face had eventually faded, replaced by raucous laughter. Eddie’s conviction that this was the rest of his life didn’t fade.

**5**

This time, Eddie had asked Buck to come with him to pick Chris up from summer camp. He’d been planning on it even before Chris has asked about Buck in one of his phone calls. They’d driven to the school in Eddie’s car, only to find that the school bus was running late, so they’d gone back to sit in the car.

There was something about the comfortable silence and the heat and the proximity that had made his mind drift until he had blurted out, “What are we doing?”

Turning towards him, Buck had started with, “Sitting in the car –” before stopping once he was facing him. Their eyes had met for a few immeasurably long seconds before Eddie turned to the window.

“What do you want?”

The question had thrown him. No one had really asked him that, either assuming he didn’t know what was right, or had already made the decision and so didn’t want to talk or know about the reasoning. He had known what he wanted, for some time now, and in that moment, it was terrifyingly near and far at the same time.

It wasn’t the first time he’d had Buck’s hand in his own, and neither would it have been the last, but the feel of his palm pressed against the back of Buck’s hand over the central console had felt like something entirely different. He had tensed, eyes staring towards the school bus lane as he waited for Buck to pull his hand away, pull himself away completely.

Buck’s other hand had been warm and gentle when it rested over his, and he had exhaled and turned to see Buck smiling at him, a look of breathless wonder on his face.

“I want this too,” and because Buck had always understood him, even when he couldn’t untangle the web in his own head, “we’re always going to be a team.”

**6**

The bus had pulled up a few minutes after that, and if Eddie had held onto his son a little longer than normal, neither Chris nor Buck said anything to his face. Chris was almost hyper-actively excitable, full of stories that he had eagerly told Buck on the drive back. His energy had waned significantly by the time they’d gotten home, and after he’d eaten, he was more than ready for bed.

When he had come back from tucking Chris in, he’d found Buck hovering in the living room, the movement of him wringing his hands lit from the side by the harsh light of the TV in front of him, even though the volume was too low to hear anything and Buck was facing the far window. When Eddie had whispered his name, he’d turned away from the window to face him, hands dropping to his side, his face softening as Eddie came to stand in front of him.

Eddie’s hands were shoved into his pockets when he asked “So…what does this mean then?”

“I’m hoping it means we carry on being us,” Buck had edged closer, forcing him to tilt his chin as they bumped chests, “except I get to kiss you?”

The thought had stolen his breath away, before he noticed the soft grin starting to spread across Buck’s face.

“Oh, so that’s all you want me for?” It had been his turn to tease, but he must have let a little of his insecurity seep through the cracks, because Buck had taken a step back so that he could tug his hand into his own.

“Of course not. I just…want all of you, whatever you want to give me.”

Eddie had been the one to walk forward, to finally close the gap and reach up to press a tentative kiss to his lips. One of his hands had stayed on Buck’s face, reveling in the way his eyes remained closed for a second longer as he had leaned into it, whilst the other hand had slipped down to hold his waist.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” As he had held Buck, solid and unyielding, in his hands, he had still felt like an unexploded mine.

“You won’t.” There had been such conviction in Buck’s voice before he pressed their foreheads together, “and anyway, I could end up hurting you.”

“You could never do that.”

**7**

They had kept it under wraps at first, navigating the minefield that was their own baggage and how they’d been circling each other for so long that neither had wanted to throw themselves in so fast that they crashed and burned.

Without a public face for what they were doing, it had taken them three weeks to realize that they’ve been working together whilst being romantically involved (Buck had teased him ruthlessly at the wording, calling him something out of an Louise May Alcott book) and no one was any the wiser.

They didn’t want to tempt fate, but both knew that the last three weeks had also not seen any particularly dangerous calls, and neither of them knew how they would react, especially now. That’s why it was 11pm and they were sitting in the kitchen, snacking on cookies from the top shelf, bare feet tangled under the table.

“Before we tell Bobby,” Eddie had powered on under Buck’s raised eyebrows, “we need to talk about being…professional.”

“Eddie, you know me - I’m nothing but professional with you at work.” Buck was serious, even though he had then proceeded to take an impossibly large bite of a cookie, heaped with ice-cream.

Eddie was quick to reassure him, “I don’t mean… I just need us to be clear about what happens if things go south.”

The bowl was pushed away, and Buck had clasped his hands around Eddie’s, head ducking and weaving as he had tried to catch Eddie’s gaze.

“It was different last time. I wasn’t thinking, I just knew I needed to get you back.”

“But now…” the conversation had brought to the forefront of Eddie’s mind the possibility that he’d be the one above ground, scrabbling to reach Buck, and it had brought tears to his eyes.

“I will never stop trying to reach you, but I have you now and that’s enough.”

The next day, they had both stood in Bobby’s office, a foot apart, saying they needed to talk. Bobby’s first question was whether there was a problem, eyes flicking between the two of them and settling on the gap between them.

He’d not been happy, but it had seemed more about them hiding it than anything else, especially since Buck was quick to point out that it hadn’t affected how they worked together, and Eddie had added that they had it all under control and kept it strictly professional at work. The last part might have been a bit too much for 8 in the morning, given the way Bobby had briefly dropped his head in his hand and rubbed his eyes before looking back at them.

“I’ll fill out the paperwork.” They’d both still stood there, shoulders pressed from where they’d drifted together, and had waited for the other shoe to drop. The combined concerned expressions on their faces were enough for Bobby to let out a small laugh and say, “You’re not going anywhere.”

**8**

The words were in the periphery of his vision for a while, on the tip of his tongue but he was too afraid to say them. Not because he wouldn't hear them back but because he was afraid that he wasn’t good enough for them, he'd say them wrong, he wouldn't be able to make Buck believe him. It had needed to be perfect.

It was a 118 barbecue at the Nash-Grants, and Buck was at the grill, while Eddie chatted with Karen. They had caught eyes across the garden. Buck had winked and he had felt himself blush, before Hen had ribbed him for still being so sappy over Buck.

Eddie had decided he needed to get Buck back for it, and had strode across the lawn, placing his empty beer bottle on a nearby table, before pulling Buck back towards his chest, arms wrapped around his waist.

“Hey babe.” He had spoken into Buck’s neck, seeing it flush under the brush of his lips. Out of the corner of his eyes, he had seen Bobby turn away, and had taken the opportunity to murmur, “I love you.”

Buck’s yelp and the sound of the spatula clattering on the grill had bought everyone’s attention back to them, and Eddie had looked up to see Bobby rolling his eyes at them, one hand holding a plate and the other thrown up to the heavens in exasperation. “Can you please not distract him whilst he’s in front of fire?”

Buck had twisted round in Eddie’s grip to stare at him, red faced and stunned, so Eddie had tried not to grin wildly as he solemnly replied, “Yes, cap,” before sauntering back to the house, throwing a nod at Karen and Hen who looked amused and disappointed respectively.

Eddie had headed up the stairs once he got inside, slowing down as he made his way through the front door, leaving it open behind him. He was half-way up the drive when he heard his name.

“You love me?” Buck had looked like he was waiting for Eddie to take it back, to say it was a joke. It had made Eddie close the distance and hold his face as he said, “Of course.”

“You love me.” It was like he was trying it on in his mouth. Eddie had leant forward and kissed it from him. When he had moved to pull away, Buck had leaned in to kiss it back again.

“I love you too.”

Buck’s smile could light up a city.

**9**

One thing that they’d done since they started dating was make the effort to do date nights. As much as he and Buck loved spending time as a family with Chris, it had initially been a part of them working out where to take their relationship, and had then become part of them making sure that they had time for each other, without the rest of their world.

Buck had always picked a nice restaurant, whilst Eddie opted for a picnic in the park or the beach, with some simple foods that he’d learnt how to cook from Buck and Bobby, and some dessert that he’d baked, always surprising Buck with how perfectly it turned out.

That night was Buck’s choice and the LA skyline stretched and curved next to them. It had so happened that they’d been on opposite shift patterns, so this had been the first time he’d seen Buck properly in over a week, besides passing each other like ships in the night. He had looked good, blue shirt accentuating his eyes.

Buck had ordered red wine, explaining that it’d go with the meal. Eddie had tended to stick to water but they’d both got an Uber over and Chris was at a sleepover at Hen and Karen’s so, for one night, it didn’t matter.

The meal was filled with quiet laughter and stories of their week, legs brushing under the table and hands grazing against each other in fleeting moments. After Buck had paid with their card and they got into the elevator, Buck had leapt forward to push the lift button.

“Where are we going?”

As they rose slowly to the top floor, Buck had slipped his hand into Eddie’s, tugging him along once the doors were open. They had come to a standstill in front of ceiling-to-floor windows, and Eddie was left speechless. The city sparkled below them, shimmering lights twinkling like stars, the fluorescent glow of office windows making constellations across the skyline.

“How did you –” As he had turned to his side, he realized that Buck was kneeling next to him, a small black box in his hands.

Marriage had been on Eddie’s mind for a little while but there was a part of him that had still worried about rushing Buck, rushing things towards failure. As he had looked at Buck, whose eyes held such vulnerability and love, he had known that he could never rush this.

“You taught me about love.” Buck swallows, eyes glistening like the city below them. “I will love you the way you love me, because you deserve to love yourself, and you deserve all the love that the world has. I can’t imagine a life without you.”

The ring box was opened with a crack, and Buck pulled out one of the rings, holding it out as he asked, “Edmundo Diaz, will you marry me?”

His own eyes had filled as he held out his hand, letting Buck slip the silver ring onto his hand. He took the other ring and took Buck’s hand, sliding the ring on.

As he pressed his face into Buck’s neck, he whispered, “I can’t imagine a life without you either.”

**10**

It was just a piece of paper, but Eddie had learnt from past experiences how important pieces of paper could be. Although Buck had always been a point of contact for Carla, he had also become their emergency contact, at the doctor, the school and anyone else that needed it, and Chris had been mistaken for Buck’s child enough times that it was finally a little funny. Some nights, when Buck was in a teasing mood, he had threatened to shave off his curls to reduce the resemblance, running his fingers through Eddie’s hair as he had told him to grow his hair out.

Still, Eddie was surprised when Chris bought it up, on a rare Saturday afternoon when they were by themselves in the house, as Buck had picked up an extra shift to cover for Anderson. They’d been sitting at the dining table, Chris silently doing homework whilst Eddie did some admin, when he had noticed that the rhythmic sound of pen scrawling on paper had stopped. Looking up, he had seen Chris looking at him, appearing somewhat nervous.

“Dad?” The cautious and questioning tone in his son’s voice had initially made him panic about what sort of questions were going to follow, so his heart had been racing a mile a minute when Chris had blurted out, “Is Buck my dad as well?”

It wasn’t the line of questioning that Eddie had thought was coming (and dreaded), so he had tried to think of something to say whilst calming his poor heart. He had clearly taken too long, because Chris had carried on. “I mean, I know he’s my dad, but officially?”

“Do you want him to be?” He’d sometimes found himself casually researching it, although not quite to Buck levels, closing the window once he’d accumulated a few tabs, and never in sight of Buck or Chris.

The closed eyes and exasperated head shake he had got in return were like looking in the mirror. When Chris had finally opened his eyes, he got an enthusiastic nod.

Eddie had pulled him into a hug, ignoring his squeals that he was too old to have his hair ruffled, but Eddie had felt a kind of bittersweet sadness at the kindness and wisdom of his child. There was a cheeky grin on the boy’s face when he had pulled away.

“Now he definitely can’t leave us!”

Eddie stands with his hands behind him, back straight as the firefighters’ prayer is read out and the flag over the casket is folded. He tries to hand it to Maddie, but she fixes him with such a fierce glare through tear lined lashes that any argument dies in his throat. It weighs a ton in his hands.

He doesn’t want to leave Buck. The crowd starts to drift away, either heading home or towards his Abuela’s house. He knows that they will wait until everyone has dispersed before lowering Buck down, but he doesn’t want to let him out of his sight. He stares at the flowers that are scattered atop the casket, the petals on the orchids and carnations fluttering in the growing wind.

Chris is sitting with his grandparents, pulling restlessly at his shirt collar. He finds himself rushing forwards to stop him, hands running over the shoulders of his son’s suit jacket before prying his fingers away from their agitated actions.

As he meets his eyes, he pulls him from his seat, wrapping his arms around him.

“Eddie, we should get going.” His mother’s lips are pursed, eyes glancing over at the rapidly empty parking lot in the distance.

With a few comforting rubs to Chris’ back, he extracts himself, grabbing an orchid from the vase as he strides towards the casket. His free hand grips the edge of the metal bar in front of him. His heart feels like it might burst out of his chest, and all words fail him, except three, as he places the flower down.

“I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for the tenses in this...
> 
> Feel free to come and scream at me on Tumblr ([@oneawkwardcookie](https://oneawkwardcookie.tumblr.com/)). Also, in case the above didn’t make you cry, [here's](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLPzIHKGvAnC1fXpDnTJFbmLTroLH-G65A) a playlist for this fic (based on what I listened to when I was writing or what songs I think fit perfectly - this is continually updated as I write)
> 
> **Other notes:**
> 
>  ** _Firefighters prayer:_**  
>  Give Me Concern  
> A willingness to seek out those in need  
> Give Me Courage  
> The boldness of spirit to face and conquer fear,  
> share and endure the ordeal of others in need.  
> Give Me Strength  
> Strength of heart, to bear whatever burden  
> might be placed on me and strength of body to  
> deliver safely all those placed in my care  
> Give Me Wisdom to Lead  
> The Compassion to comfort, and the love to serve unselfishly wherever you take me  
> And please Lord, through if all, be at my side.  
>  **_Bobby’s speech (taken from Kevin’s funeral, although I cut out the end bit):_**  
>  “Throughout most of history, the lives of firefighters have been closely associated with the ringing of a bell. As they began their hours of duty, it was the bell that started it off. Through the day and night, each alarm was sounded by a bell, that called them to fight fire and to place their lives in jeopardy for the good of their fellow man. And when the fire was out, and the alarm had come to an end, the bell rang ten times, to signal that end.”


	3. Chapter 3

Back at Abuela’s, three things have been added to her mantelpiece. There's a water stained photobooth strip from that day at the pier, impossibly salvaged from Buck's back pocket, with Chris and Buck pulling a series of funny faces in washed out watercolor. Next to it is a polaroid from their engagement party, Buck’s impossibly long arms holding the camera up and out, a wide grin across his face and a blurry Eddie approaching from the garden in the background. There’s also a framed picture, from the surprise Christmas party of three years ago, cropped so that it’s just Buck, Eddie, Chris and Abuela.

Eddie just wants to destroy something. He's back in the firehouse, mad at Buck for leaving him, but he's there and he's hurt too and he gets it, he _gets it_. He's back in Buck's kitchen, hearing him say that he's throwing his punches at the wrong person. _Yes_ , he wants to scream, _it's you, it's all about you, it's always going to be about you_. He's so tired of being angry at himself, that's not who he is, he was getting better at feeling better, Buck was making him better. He doesn't realize he's shaking until Maddie pulls the half-empty glass of whisky from his hands and lowers him onto the sofa.

She's not drinking in her condition and he's apologizing now for drinking, except all he can get out is, “sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't –”

She's shushing him, comforting him, treating him like a younger brother and he doesn't want it, doesn't deserve it, but he's too tired to pull away from her arms. People are milling around in the background, but he can only hear her whispers.

“It's not your fault, there's nothing anyone could have done.”

He doesn't know if it's easier that they both know it's true, burdened with their medical knowledge. The shots would have killed him instantly, even if Eddie and the team were there. It’s still not the consolation it should be.

He feels his heartbeat returning to its new normal and straightens up, pulling Maddie into a side hug and telling her that he's here for her, telling her thank you. He's said it before, so many times: that time at May's graduation party that he loudly proclaimed to her that she was the best parent ever, oblivious to the wide-eyed look he got in return. That time at karaoke when Buck was singing Eye of the Tiger, and he said to her that she did a great job and she looked at him fondly. That time when they went over to her and Chim's place as a couple for the first time, and he'd laughed about how she'd made him too honest to be good at cards and she'd just said that he was always an open book. That time at their engagement party - he doesn’t want to think about that now, feeling the cool metal band on his own right hand, pressing into the stones at the top until they left three indents in his thumb.

She understands and says, “of course,” and she sounds so much like him. Chimney comes over and squeezes his knee. He gets up and walks towards the kitchen, glancing back to see that she's wrapped up in her partner’s arms, her own clutching her belly as she cries silently.

He makes up a plate for Chris and comes out to see where he’s got to, to try and encourage him to eat something. Chris is sitting with Denny, a games console held loosely in his hands as the other boy talks to him, quietly enough that he can’t hear it across the murmuring chatter that fills the room. Eddie makes a beeline for him, when he notices that Athena has spotted him.

Intercepting him in the middle of the room, she takes the plate from his hand, handing it to Sophia with a nod, and pulls him in for a hug. It’s desperately tight and he can feel her pain in how she cradles his head. When she pulls away, she keeps a hand on his shoulder, dark brown eyes boring into his with a mixture of strength and compassion. “You can talk to me about this, any time you want.”

He presses his lips together and nods once. He can’t hold her gaze, eyes flicking to the side, catching sight of Bobby staring at the photos, of Hen slumped in a sofa chair with Karen perched on the arm next to her, of Josh and Albert standing together, red-eyed and silent. He seeks out Chris, finding him tentatively chewing on some stew under the watchful eye of his aunt.

When he looks back, Athena’s eyes are still fixed on him, before she takes his hand and silently leads him out the screen door. The weather is gloomy, unseasonal winds growling with growing intensity, as Athena pulls up two seats. She sits first, giving him a pointed look until he slumps down into the other seat, head in his hands.

“I know what this is like.” He looks up at the crack in her voice.

“I had – Emmett.” She takes a deep breath, pulls in cool air through pursed lips. “We were engaged. He was shot.”

Each sentence is like a gunshot, puncturing the shield he’d pulled together around himself this morning with his uniform. “How did you –” He doesn’t know how to finish the sentence, what he’s asking for, what he needs right now.

Her hand is back on his shoulder as she scans his face. “I didn’t. Not at first. Not for too long. I thought I could push it down, keep moving, by myself.” Her shoulders slump. “It doesn’t work, not really. You need to let yourself feel.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be him.” She stays silent next to him, and his stomach does another twist. “It was all wrong, I thought it would be…different.”

“You always will, but it won’t change the end result.”

He looks to the sky, to the graying clouds, and wonders who he has to beg to, to change the end result.

“I’m not going to tell you it gets better, because sometimes it does and other days it will feel like it happened an hour ago, and the pain is going to swallow you whole. You just need to take it day by day.” He nods along numbly. “Honey, the only thing I need you to remember is that we're all here for you. We love you and Christopher. This doesn't change that. Despite what you will tell yourself, you don’t have to do this by yourself. You are **not** alone.” 

They sit in silence, the quiet rumble of indistinct conversations in the house keeping them company, as he tries to will himself to believe her, believe it, believe in something that can pull him back from the gaping maw of despair that threatens to overwhelm him.

He’s grateful for her standing up after a few minutes and, with a squeeze of his shoulder, heading back in the house. He slips out the side, walks into the middle of the street and stops. He watches the leaves fall from the trees.

There’s a bitter bile that burns his throat at being left again. So much of the time he feels like things are imploding, and lately he feels like a black hole, unable to hold onto light without destroying it. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

They’d been in bed one day, Buck breathing against his neck as he silently traced patterns into the skin of his chest. Eddie had started a little when Buck came out with, “I’d want to die first.” Once he’d registered the words, it had taken every fiber of Eddie’s being and every ounce of self-restraint and therapy for him not to fly upright and tell him to never talk of his death. Instead, he’d forced his breath in and out and in, and said, “why?”

Buck had stopped the meandering path of his fingers and gone quiet for a moment. Eddie had brought his other arm around him, pulling him closer and carding his hands through the hair at his nape until he spoke.

“I couldn’t bear it if you left me.”

“I’m never going to leave you.” It was an instinctive answer, one that had lived in his heart for so long. He’s done leaving, he’s never leaving ever again, and he would follow Buck anywhere he went.

“Together then?” There’d been a silence as they both thought of Chris, imagining Bobby or Athena coming to the house to deliver the news. Eddie shuddered and pressed his face into Buck’s hair, breathing in his scent.

“You need a few more gray hairs before then.” It had soothed something in his soul to imagine them being old together, and he’d yelped out a laugh as Buck pinched his side, an appropriate punishment for pointing out that he’d found his first white hair the week before.

“We’ll keep each other alive until then.” It’s an echo of their first ever promise to each other, of how they always fought side by side. They had survived so much; Buck had survived so much. _Until he hadn’t_.

They were supposed to have so much longer. Buck was supposed to be an uncle again soon, was supposed to get to see Christopher graduate, get married, maybe become a grandfather one day. He was supposed to become captain, retire with honor, volunteer at the local kindergarten, cook for him, _take care of him_.

He wishes he didn’t know how to be alone. He wishes for Buck's warmth, even as he knows that it’s only going to get colder. The front door clicks behind him and Chris comes down the steps to stand next to him. They stand in silence for a brief moment before Eddie swallows, dropping to his knees and pulling Chris into a hug.

“It's alright to cry,” he says, “it's alright, just let it out,” but Chris is already crying. “It's going to be alright,” he repeats, under his breath, a chanted mantra that he hates.

Chris sobs out, “why do people always leave?”

He didn't think his heart could break anymore, thought it had shattered into a million pieces three days ago, that it had been buried six feet underground this afternoon.

“They don't, they won't, it's just –” He doesn't know what to say. Is it bad luck, is it fate, is it the universe telling him that he can only ever lose things, that he can always save everyone except the one person he wants to?

Buck would know what to say: what would Buck say? He looks to his left, imagines Buck in a black suit, solemn expression on his face as he places a reassuring hand on Eddie's shoulder.

“He loved us, and we had so many good times together, and that's what we need to remember.” There we go, it's like the sun shining through the clouds, that ray of optimism and perseverance, that feels like Buck.

Chris' sobs fade to sniffles and Eddie pulls his handkerchief out to wipe at his face, gently dabbing his red cheeks.

“He liked autumn.”

“Yes, he did. I think it’s because he liked Halloween.”

They walk back up the porch steps and sit on the bench. There's a moment's silence before Chris mumbles, "He liked ghost stories." 

Eddie brings his arm round to squeeze a shoulder in encouragement and it’s like the floodgates open. Chris is talking a mile a minute, words all jumbled up, but he catches the gist: it's Buck. He reminds him so much of Buck. He opens his face to the autumn breeze and lets another tear fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to come and scream at me on Tumblr ([@oneawkwardcookie](https://oneawkwardcookie.tumblr.com/)). Also, in case the above didn’t make you cry, [here's](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLPzIHKGvAnC1fXpDnTJFbmLTroLH-G65A) a playlist for this fic (based on what I listened to when I was writing or what songs I think fit perfectly - this is continually updated as I write)


	4. Chapter 4

Eddie has done this before, except he hasn’t. Buck is so inextricably intertwined in their lives, there are reminders of him everywhere. Once he’s gotten Christopher to sleep, holding him until he’d cried himself into exhaustion, he lies down on the floor in the living room and closes his eyes.

The bed is theirs. The couch was his before he was theirs.

It doesn’t help. Buck is everywhere.

Wincing as he gets up, he drags himself to the table in the middle room. As he rests his head on the table and closes his eyes again, he’s back at the firehouse.

He didn’t like being on shift without him, even though they’d decided that it was necessary during school holidays, so that Chris got at least one of his parents at home with him. This time though, it was just Buck being his helpful self. When Bobby had texted around that Jenkins was going on paternity leave earlier than expected, even his raised eyebrows and slight pout hadn’t been enough to stop Buck from volunteering. It meant that he was off today, and Eddie felt his absence keenly.

He’d gotten back to the station after an argument at a restaurant turned into an outright brawl, and immediately rushed up to the loft. Even though the food on the table had turned stone cold in the last hour and he probably still had some blood on his clothes, he was too hungry to care. He’d grabbed a fork and was chewing on a mouthful of pasta when he heard his name from downstairs.

He’d leant over the balcony to see a police officer and another person standing talking to Hen. Three sets of eyes had looked simultaneously up at him, and he’d felt himself sway on the spot, fingers gripping the balcony at the unease that rose up in him. He was grateful that they came to him because his legs seemed to have stopped working.

“Eddie Diaz?”

He could only nod once, eyes flicking between the two men in front of him.

“We have some bad news, could you take a seat please?”

He had managed to drag himself to the nearest seat on the kitchen table. They sat opposite him, like an interview, like a jury. The policeman had spoken first.

“I’m sorry, but your fiancé was caught up in an armed robbery and was shot. He was dead by the time the paramedics arrived.”

Time had stopped. He hadn’t understood the words that made their way to his ears. The only thing his brain had supplied him was ‘This isn’t real, this is just a nightmare supplied by my exhausted and starving brain.’ He had blinked twice. The two men were still in front of him, looking at him with undisguised concern. Time restarted but it was treacly, everything happening in agonizing slow motion, his body unable to move whilst his mind screamed.

“Are you sure?” He hadn’t known where the words came from or how they made their way through his lips.

The other man had replied this time, voice soft and unnervingly calm. “He had ID on him, and we confirmed his tattoos, plus his registration with the LAFD.”

He had nodded, still in denial but unwilling to admit it.

“How many?” He couldn’t get any more syllables out and the chaplain had looked confused, but the police officer had only sighed in bone-tired understanding.

“Two to the heart, one to the stomach.”

He could only nod again silently, tasting blood on his lips where his teeth were worrying away at them.

He jerks his eyes open, sitting upright, breathing hard and tasting blood again. Buck had been caught in the crossfire. He hates that phrase, the memories it drags up, the ridiculousness of it. Buck would have tried to help, running mindlessly across the forecourt at the first sign of trouble. He loved him for it, and hates him too.

His skin is crawling but there’s nowhere to run to. He finds himself outside of Christopher’s door, peering through the crack. Even though his son’s back is turned to the door, he can tell from the set of his shoulders and the sound of his breathing that he’s not asleep. He knocks gently, waiting for Chris to face him.

“Can I come in?” His voice sounds rough to his own ears, and he senses it in his son’s eyes from the quick nod he gets back, and the way he pulls back the duvet, waiting until Eddie is propped up against his pillow before wrapping his arm around him, head resting on his stomach. He brings a hand down to stroke his hair and Chris doesn’t complain. Eddie stops when Chris’ sniffles go silent again, but he keeps a hand resting on his son’s back, the warmth the only thing grounding him to reality and the feeling of being alive.

* * *

* * *

They visit his grave two days later. Chris goes on ahead, remembering the exact location with far more precision than he can at that point. By the time he reaches him, Chris is just looking at the ground.

There’s a cross where he had last left Buck, a plain placeholder for the simple headstone that’ll be there soon. A poor substitute for Buck.

“Did you have anything you wanted to say to him, bud?” He places an arm around Chris’ shoulder, trying not to feel hurt as Chris stays rigid next to him.

“I… I don’t know.”

“You can tell him about your day?” He only gets a silent nod in response, same as when he asked the question in the car ride over.

Chris doesn't say anything. They stand there, the weight of the silence slowly suffocating them. Eddie needs to do something, wants to make it better, knows he can't. He knows death, but not like this.

He pulls Chris closer, both arms wrapped around him in a tight hug, one that he doesn’t ever want to end, one that he hopes is enough, at least for now. Chris doesn’t hug him back and he feels a chill run down his spine.

“I want to go.” The words are almost lost in his jumper.

“Do you want to visit Mom?”

“I just want to go home.” He hates how sad Chris sounds, how he already seems resigned to not getting what he wants, to this being his new reality.

They leave the cemetery in silence.

* * *

* * *

He drops Chris off at school, schooling his face into something neutral from the moment he peers into Chris’ bedroom until he’s back in his car. He gives himself ten seconds to slump in his seat, hands gripping the top of the steering wheel as his head drops onto his forearms.

Looking up at the car clock, he knows he has two hours until the shift starts. Rolling his neck a little, he puts the car in drive.

His hands are shoved in his pockets as soon as he’s walking, clenching the thin lining as he nears his destination, only coming out to hang limply at his side when he comes to a standstill.

“You probably saw this coming, but Bobby announced his retirement yesterday. Now that they’re both not working, I’m guessing Athena and him will be keeping themselves busy by taking a bunch of road trips once Harry’s on summer break, and then I’m sure Bobby will be driving Athena mad by taking over the kitchen.”

He looks up at the sky, that seems to be taunting him with its shade of blue. “He misses you too. Everyone… else says they’ll miss him.”

“He wants me to be captain … I’m not ready, Buck.” He closes his eyes against the sun.

“It’s not supposed to be me. We… I remember we talked about it once. You didn’t believe me when I said that the only thing that made sense was you as captain, but I still believe it. You… were so much more than just a firefighter. Even with your voice in my head, I can’t.”

He forces himself to drop his shoulders, even as he feels the weight of the upcoming day straining on them.

“I miss you a lot today. I miss you every day, but today… Happy birthday, my love.”

* * *

* * *

He knows he’s acting childish, sitting cross-legged on the ground in a way he knows his knees will complain about later. Even though he’d brought a small picnic blanket to avoid getting any mud on his trousers, he knows he’s pouting, deepening the frown lines that Chris likes to joke about, telling him they make him look even more like an old man than his actions do.

“Buck, it’s been _one_ day, and I already keep popping my head into his bedroom expecting him to be there.” The autumn wind seems to laugh at him.

“I know you’d be laughing at me now, but you’d be far worse, telling us to move states just to be near him. Remember summer camp?” He presses his lips together at the memory of Buck’s incredulity over the farm-to-table program, at how excited he was to be there to pick him up the following year, at how it had been the start of everything for them.

“He’s gone now.” Even the tightness of his lips doesn’t help the small sob that erupts out of him. “I know it’s not permanent, obviously,” he waves his hands in a dismissive gesture, “and I’ll see him over video call but it’s not the same. I’m just counting down the days until he’s home for winter break.”

“He’s grown so fast. I don’t know how to deal with that by… without you.”

* * *

* * *

They go to see him together, an excitement bubbling through him that seems to be contagious enough to bring out his dad’s dimples for a brief moment. He’s too impatient to sit down, finding himself pacing a little until he realizes he’s blocking his dad’s view. He waits until his dad is seated at the small bench opposite Buck, before he starts talking.

“Hi Pops, I’ve got big news to tell you.” He brings his hand up in front of him, holding up an open ring box. “I’m going to ask Sophie to marry me today.”

“I’ve already got everything planned out and it’s going to be so perfect.” 

“Not as perfect as ours though,” his dad pipes up behind him, a slight smirk on his face.

“I think you’d really like her.” He turns to see his father nodding his approval and agreement. “I wish she got to meet you too, but it feels like she still knows you.”

He goes to sit next to his father, squeezing his hand. “You two will be the first to know if she says yes.” His father squeezes his hand back, a small smile gracing his features. They sit for a few moments, drinking in the momentous nature of the day and its possibilities. The early morning light bursts in sunbeams through the clouds, and it both soothes and invigorates him.

“Right, let’s go see Mom too?”

“Of course, I’ll catch up with you.” His dad pats his hand a few times before letting go, unzipping his backpack to pull out a small bouquet, and placing it gently in his hands. He weaves his way through the familiar paths between the graves, turning half-way to look back at where his father is, only to see him paused on his way over, thumb gently brushing over the stone as he grips it for a second. He hasn't seen that version of his smile in too long. It's radiant.

* * *

* * *

It’s muscle memory now, and he’s standing in front of Buck’s grave before he realizes it. He leans forward to place the bouquet in the arms of the angel that crowns the headstone. The setting sun makes the red and orange petals glow, bathing the marble underneath them in a warm light.

He pulls a flask out of his jacket, carefully unscrewing the cap. Reaching into his other pocket for a cloth, he pours some water onto the fabric and lifts a hand to gently brush an invisible speck from the figure, one hand resting on the cold marble as he bends to trace the indented letters with care.

> Evan James Buckley  
>  27 June 1991 – 15 September 2022  
>  Kindness is bravery

Once he’s done with his task, he takes a few steps back and slowly lowers himself onto the wooden bench behind him, one finger instinctively tracing the plaque with Buck’s name on it.

“Christopher had his first child. I know, he came a little early, but him and Sophie are doing well. Chris is so confident with him – nothing like how I was with him at first.”

He takes a deep breath, inhaling the faint scent of flowers in the dusky air. “He has a few curly hairs already, like his father…like you. They named him Evan. He’s perfect.”

The wind seems to blow in response, a light caress against his skin. “Denny’s second is due in a few months, so I imagine they’ll be close. Oh, that reminds me - Hen decided she was going to take the Head of Trauma Center job, so between Lucas in the neurology lab and May as an ER nurse, I guess USC is the new 118.”

He looks up and watches the clouds for a few minutes, waiting for the billowing figure overhead to drift past. “Either way, nothing left from the old 118 anymore. Not sure what retirement is going to look like but I’m sure there’ll be enough to keep me busy. Life always finds something to throw my way.”

“I can’t complain though. Life bought me you. Someone was looking out for me then.”

He finds himself smiling into the orange sky. “I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Though it doesn't really matter to anyone but me, the bouquet at the end is:
> 
>   * Sunflowers - Loyalty and strong bonds between two people, nourishing yourself and others (brown for loyalty and support)
>   * Sweet William - symbolises masculinity, it means gallantry
>   * Irises - represent 25 years of marriage. 
>   * Honeysuckle - sprigs of Honeysuckle symbolize the bond between two people lasting for eternity to come
> 


**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [tkreyesevandiaz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tkreyesevandiaz/pseuds/tkreyesevandiaz/works/), for listening to me shout about this at 3am and for letting me bounce about ideas for my first ever MCD fic and to [kitkat0723](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitkat0723/pseuds/kitkat0723/works/) for having a look through this for me when I wasn't sure if I'd got the tone right and helping me to get this off the ground. Thanks also to [extasiswings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/extasiswings/pseuds/extasiswings/works/) for being very gracious and helpful when I jumped into her messages to ask a _very_ random question.


End file.
